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How Captain America Did Not Save My Day

July 7, 2014

Our Messy, Beautiful Summer Week 3: Marriage

A guest post by Cindy Brandt

This is the story of how our thirteenth anniversary screwed me over.

Week 1

A week before the actual anniversary, my seven-year-old son got ill with the flu. For six days he burned with a high fever along with a string of severe symptoms: vomiting, violent coughing, both restlessness and lethargy. By the end of the week, my husband and I were both ragged with worry and physical fatigue. We postponed any celebrations until the next weekend.

Week 2

We made plans for a terrific date: the movie, Captain America, followed by a fancy steak dinner.

On Monday, I woke up with a horrendous sore throat, having caught the bug presumably shared by dear son the week prior.

By Wednesday, I could barely speak as my voice gradually turned into a croak with intermittent missing syllables lost to my infected vocal chords.

Why the political instability in Taiwan shapes the futures of our college students.

None of which really had anything to do with why we started fighting in the first place. And remember, I was croaking my way through this fight – with missing syllables. When marital experts advise clear communication, I’m sure they assume COMPLETE SYLLABLES.

J suggests we postpone our terrific date. Why, I had to know. Well, because we just shouted and stomped and said nasty things to each other and who in their right mind is in the mood to celebrate a wedding anniversary after that? But…but, I argue, if we don’t go on this date, it signals a breach in the foundation of our marital covenant, our children will experience trauma, and the world as we know it will come to an end. Because this is the way my mind works: no Captain America = End of the world.

We’re not going, he says.

Week 3

Instead of gradually recovering from the common cold which typically lasts 7-10 days, my 8-day cold virus decides to go ahead and creep up into my eyes, giving me a double eye infection. What the what?! Apparently, this is a thing: respiratory viruses don’t just wreak havoc on the respiratory system but can affect vision. Also, now I’m hacking up a lung. Physically, I’m not doing so well. Maritally, things are looking up. We are back to speaking soft, kind words to each other, but it’s still slightly awkward. Emotions are tender; the sting of accusations hurled in the state of anger and confusion are taking time to heal. Our hugs feel a bit manufactured and our routine interactions take on an extra layer of vulnerability, slowly rebuilding trust with every gesture.

J suggests, for a third week in a row, we go out to lunch to celebrate our anniversary. I don’t say no, but I’m tempted to. I am tired of forcing a celebration. I’m tired of pretending to be happy when things are awkward and unsure. Just like the way my infected eyes are glazed over and hidden behind my heavy, prescriptive glasses, I feel shielded and incapable of connecting my true self with this man I am committed to. I feel drained of energy to lift the veil of misunderstanding, mistrust, and mishandled emotions which hang precariously between us.

But I showed up. Like a warrior, I carried on. I didn’t put on a nice dress because I didn’t feel beautiful. I changed out of my sweats and put on black slacks. I briefly combed over the hideous tangles in my hair, checked my infected eyes which were still puffy and red behind my glasses, sighed audibly over the hot mess I was, and just showed up.

The restaurant was beautiful, the meal extravagant, but the date was not magical. There was no grand, romantic gesture, no sparks of rekindled passion. It was just us, two people who have been together for thirteen years, exchanging information regarding our mundane daily lives. At one point, I started getting excited to share something important when a baby in the next booth started high-pitch crying. And kept crying, with varying intensity, for the duration of our lunch.

Somewhere between the entree and the dessert, between bout 4 and 16 of baby crying episodes, it occured to me how much of a metaphor our botched anniversary celebration is for our marriage and for life. We wanted this terrific date in a perfect world where there is no sickness, plans for childcare don’t foil, our emotions are always held in check and our brains are 100% in sync, and where Captain America is the answer to all of our life’s problems. We long for magical experiences where every plan is executed with precision, every category is defined and checked, every emotion neat and contained. But life is not a Hollywood movie, and we are not superheroes. Life is messy and we are oh-so-ordinary – frail to disease, dependent on other imperfect people. We make mistakes and wound those we love.

And just about the time this realization dawns on me, I also began to understand the value of our non-magical date. This is plainly how we keep our marital vows: we make the choice, again and again, to come together despite our imperfections. Despite the puffy eyes, the tired soul, the interruptive baby; despite awkward hugs, tense conversations, missed assumptions, we show up anyway. We make each other laugh a little and roll our eyes at each other’s stupid jokes–with every decision to be present together, we are proclaiming our marriage vows all over again. Each moment we share, no matter how mundane, is a sacred covenant. This is how we live our messy, beautiful life.

It’s not wrong to want or expect magic in marriage and in life. But if every moment is magical then nothing can delight. We must learn to find our joy in the mess and never, ever give up meeting together. When we can find beauty in the margins, then, all of a sudden, life feels full and worth showing up for every day.

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Cindy Brandt puts words about faith, culture, social justice, and life together on www.cindywords.com. She serves on the board of One Day’s Wages, an organization working to put justice for the poor in the hands of the ordinary. You can find her on Facebook and see her life on the tropical island of Taiwan on Instagram.

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These words are so beautiful: “…We must learn to find our joy in the mess and never, ever give up meeting together. When we can find beauty in the margins, then, all of a sudden, life feels full and worth showing up for every day.” I so agree about never ever giving up finding a way back to each other. I find myself often singing the lyrics from Rob Base and DJ EZ Rock (hahaha!): Joy and pain; like sunshine and rain.

Humor. It’s gotten us through things you couldn’t imagine. Including the very real possibility of death. Not kidding, though we’re almost always kidding, in one way or another. It’s how we survive and give life to those who need it.

So timely. Just came off our 11th anniversary….with no fireworks. No mentions, fighting over curtain rods, children whining, messy house, messy feelings, messy life. But I showed up. I sat on the couch and watched TV together and showed up. That is all I can give right now, so it has to be enough. Stop starting at the dirty dishes and revel in the bathtime laugheter coming from upstairs….show up.

Thank you Rachel! Coming up quickly on 12 years and lots of days feel like this…thanks for reminding us to show up. In the end we show up each day and choose to be married. Takes action and perseverance! Thanks for sharing your story too!

Embrace what you have. You would miss it if it were gone. My husband of 24 years committed suicide 7 weeks ago and left myself and three children 13 and under with a hot bed of fraud allegations – and his death – to deal with. I’d have him back in a heartbeat.

This is my life… Right this minute. The past year and a half have been one difficult life altering situation one right after another. So I decided since I am somehow still standing I deserved a dream vacation for my 40 the b day coming up in September. My husband and I have not gone away without the kids in 6 long years. I decided we were going to stay at a gorgeous hotel on a cliff over looking the Pacific. I day dreamed how my soul would be filled with joy going on this trip. This was the only place I wanted to go. It would be perfect and magical My husband wasn’t on board… He had a million reasons why it was a bad time. I usually was the one who was doom and gloom. So the ONE time I’m willing to let go, HE won’t?? He owed me this, my magical moment after all the shit I’ve been through!!! This morning I decided to let the dream go for now. Who wants to go on a trip that has caused friction and fights? I was still bitter though that my fantasy trip is not to be. Right after I sent my husband an email saying let’s bag the trip to CA, I read this post. THIS is what I needed to read to get me to let go of my anger for not getting my magical moment. There have been countless times babysitter have fallen through, kids illness, pets going to emergency rooms…. 9 times out of ten, something happens that makes a date, vacation, family time stressful. I had built up in my head these perfect scenarios and I was really pissed off that perfect rarely happens. Being reminded that life is messy for everyone and that if I only live for big moments I’ll miss all the wonderful small ones is just what I needed to let go of my self righteous indignation. I am always amazed how Momastery posts just what I need at just the right time. The magic in my life is that my husband shows up as much as I do and it took a hell of a lot of work to get where we are. I am so blessed to be slowly starting to see the magic and beauty in messiness. Momastery and all the wonderful guests who post, center me time and again. Thank you!!!!

So true and so brutiful. Like you’re taking notes from our messy, beautiful life.

My husband and I, we’re near anniversary#22 and I’m trying oh so hard to plan something, anything, just NOT another staycation. My chronics are the gremlins that keep us from plans. Because they like to pop in on holidays–like the ovarian cyst that decided to explode with the fireworks on the 4th, or child free weeks–my first ever bout of strep, so it’s nearly impossible to plan.

But we manage to have those moments–maybe it’s all of us and the pets dog piled on the bed, laughing so hard we can’t speak. That’s the kind of moment that makes my heart ache with all the love in the room.

Fwiw, all of these have happened this year alone. Yeah we know how to roll with it, brutifully.

Love this – reminds me or the toast my MIL gave at our rehearsal dinner 12 years ago – that your marriage will shape you into the people God wants you to b, but it is in the everyday things (this after she encouraged us to appreciate and enjoy a mac and cheese together, even if it is just mac and cheese)

Also reminds me of a sage explanation from a friend who explained that stress is what happens when reality does not meet our expectations….. I need to work on my expectations maybe? just helpful to see it so simply…..

Very Very close to home. six weeks into having 3 kids. Bless. Hubby definitely wants to feel like Captain America…but the payoff for him isn’t great. He’s a hero the way he comes through time and again for us, but I can’t fall all over him with affection and gratitude I am TOO. TIRED. We’ll get through. Rolled eyes and exchanged jokes and giggles help. Emailed this to him.

Marriage is often entered into as a wild adventure of love–like a hot red convertible Corvette. As wonderful and sexy as a vehicle like that is, it’s not practical for the long run. Trading it in for a reliable four door sedan with a roof that accomodates for car seats and all manner of weather, and can hold the results of a shopping run to Costco, and spilled cheerios look right at home on the floor–just makes more sense. It’s not as hot, but is infinitely more useful and satisfying. Your lunch was that sort of experience.

Good for us all to be reminded of showing up to one’s marriage by showing up to a lunch with black slacks and puffy eyes. Thanx!